


Up To Something

by Khemi



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Aging, Birthday, Birthday Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, POV Second Person, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-05
Updated: 2014-02-05
Packaged: 2018-01-11 07:46:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1170509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khemi/pseuds/Khemi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You've always hated your birthdays, but this year you just <em>know</em> he won't let you get away with hiding from it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Up To Something

**Author's Note:**

  * For [monoscribbles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/monoscribbles/gifts).



> Written for [Mono](http://monoscribbles.tumblr.com/) for her birthday!
> 
> A little fluffy Dad/Bro oneshot that I wrote in a day because I totally forgot the date, but something I'm pretty proud of! Bro's POV. Enjoy~
> 
> (Also on [Tumblr](http://khemi.tumblr.com/post/75659306163/up-to-something))

You wake up at 3am, look at the clock, and bury your head in your arms.

_Nope._

_He_ wakes up at 7am sharp (fucking _always_ , the man is magic) and gives you several gentle prods and murmured hints that you are _definitely_ too asleep to notice.

At 7:12 he pulls the covers sharply off you, and though you shiver, you are still totally 100% out cold.

At 7:28 he gets up and casually informs your very much unconscious form that this is your last chance to be an adult and admit you’re faking, or he will have to take _drastic measures._

At 7:35 he empties a bag of ice over your back, and with a scream you are unavoidably revealed to be awake.

James sidesteps the pillow you throw vengefully his way, and between quiet snickers tells you you should probably clean up before your half of the bed ends up soaked. After he’s gone you push all the ice over to his side of it and put the covers back over, feeling cold but bitterly satisfied at the revenge.

All in all, this is probably the best start to a birthday you’ve ever had.

\---

You notice the conspicuous lack of baking products and products of baking when you enter the kitchen, peering distrustfully over the counter and at the cabinets for tell-tale traces of flour or icing. Everything looks clean despite what you expected, but that doesn’t stop you squinting at him in what _would_ be a glare if the light wasn’t so bright and your shades hadn’t been hidden for the second week in a row.

He’s up to something.

At least, you _think_ he is, because right now all he’s doing is cooking eggs and bacon with a way too chipper expression for this time of the morning. He’s already dressed, too, his shirt neat and his slacks recently pressed, hair combed into place in the time it took you to stumble down the stairs.

You, meanwhile, have gone for the fetching fashion statement of messy bedhead and nothing but your briefs, which you’d feel bad about if he wasn’t an asshole and you weren’t so determined to go straight back up to bed after breakfast to sleep the whole day away.

If the day doesn’t happen, you can pretend it never did, and everyone wins!

Everyone being you, mainly, but that’s the most important everyone of all.

With all the grace of a fifties housewife, James dishes up the food, slides it in front of you, fills your glass to the brim with fresh orange juice and then puts a very unnecessary and probably _ironic_ vase with a plastic rose sitting in it right in the center of the table. You look at him and he stares back, putting his hands on his hips, over the straps of the apron you’d failed to notice until he turned around.

It’s pink and has frills and you wonder where the fuck it came from until you realise you bought it for him last Christmas.

Christ, you thought he’d _burned_ it, but no. There he is in all his aproned glory, managing to look even cuter and more ridiculous than you expected.

You stifle your snort into a mouthful of food, and as soon as he sees you starting to eat he seems satisfied, dropping his constant observation and sorting out his own breakfast instead.

He’s always insisted you eat together. There were a few weeks after you moved in that you weakly insisted you were used to eating when you liked, and that mealtimes were a thing you and Dave only really shared if you were having a take-out together, but he put up with that just as long as he put up with you forgetting to shave. First, he’d just started making comments when you cooked for yourself at odd times, but then he started unplugging everything in the kitchen, hiding all the utensils, and at last you’d come down one morning at 2am for a snack to find the fridge and cupboards had been emptied at some point the night before.

By the time he served you both breakfast they were all somehow full again. You never tried to argue with him about eating together after that.

That’s something you’ve learned in the time you’ve been with him, and especially since you moved in. His greatest weapon is how often people underestimate him and the _absolutely ridiculous bullshit_ he’s willing to pull off, and even after all this time you’re only just starting to respect what he’s capable of.

Knowing what he can do (or rather _not_ knowing what he can do, and always ending up confused and frustrated and asking _how the fuck **did** he just do that_ ) is one of the reasons you’ve been dreading today for _months_.

You’ve _seen_ how big of a deal he made John’s birthday. You’ve seen how his own was something that he treated with more decorum, but nonetheless was a Very Important Date.

Considering your usual attitude to _your_ birthday is it’s a day you get free shit and then go into denial, this might be one of those times you regret being here.

(The last time involved rope, a can of Barbasol, and what _had_ been a respectable attempt at a beard, but you…

You don’t talk about that.)

James looks for all the world like today is nothing special, besides the fact he wore that one particular apron now draped over the back of his chair. For a brief, optimistic moment, you delude yourself that maybe, just _maybe_ , he’s forgotten, or better yet that he’s realised you aren’t looking forward to today and is going to let you get away with pretending it’s not happening at all.

Then he catches you watching him, and gives you this one particular shit-eating grin he saves for when he’s just about to wreck your shit.

You grimace and shove another load of bacon down your throat as angrily as you can.

Mother _fucker._

Of course it couldn’t be that easy.

\---

Your attempts at sneaking back upstairs fail spectacularly, as you find he’s beaten you to it and locked the door to the bedroom, leaving a neat pile of your clothes in the hall. You stare at them, irritated by their presence, until you finally grab them all in a huff and storm to the shower, aiming to waste your time in _there_ instead.

He’s switched the hot water off.

You’re going to scream.

You stomach a quick cold shower for the sake of _cleanliness_ , then dress and spend an obnoxiously long time drying your hair, fluffing it up into shape before you add a little product to hold it there.

After you dress, you look yourself over with a grimace. Today might suck balls in a non-sexy way, but hot damn will you look fine facing it.

He lets you have five minutes of hiding, huddled behind the door, before he threatens to start disposing of your sword if you don't come out.

The memory of the smuppet massacre that followed his last similar threat echoes through your mind and, reluctantly, you comply.

\---

Everything seems normal.

You should be happy! James is going around doing chores, you're sitting, sewing on the couch with some kids cartoon on for background noise, and now and then, as he comes past with washing or cleaning products, you cop a quick feel, or get in a slap on his finely shaped behind and get clothes loving dumped on your face, or wet hands scrubbed over your cheeks before you can dodge.

It's just like a normal day.

You have never been more worried in your life.

Between his passing visits, you're on your feet, searching for hidden cakes, streamers, decorations or presents. You're looking through the phone history for places he might've made a booking, and scanning the paper for anything he might've circled or otherwise marked. You find nothing, and all it does is distress you even _more_. This is _James_. He's _always_ up to something!

Your searching is interrupted by Dave ringing, asking how the day is going while making sure to not mention in any way why today may be of note. You thank him for the fancy sewing kit and signed Muppet poster you received and opened a week ago, despite James giving you a withering look and muttering about waiting. The talk doesn't last as long as normal, which you're thankful for. Dave makes some bullshit excuse about him and John being busy with doing something real important, and you accept it and just hope it's not banging because you don't even wanna think about how complicated your family situation would get if it is.

Then he's gone, and the hunt is on, although your celebratory prey continues to elude you.

James finally finishes his housework and settles beside you, plucking the remote from your reach and putting the volume up loud enough for you to hear clearly and then some, starting to browse for something you can both actually watch.

It takes you longer than normal to trust him enough to lean against his side.

\---

He hasn't done anything, and you're going insane. He hasn't done _anything_. Your usual thoughts of denial are far from your mind, and rather than being a comfort, the lack of any reminders about the day has left you _obsessing_ over it.

Has he forgotten? Has he _really_ forgotten?

He wouldn't!

...would he?

You shoot him another glance, now firmly curled up against him as you watch a movie together, most of the day having been wasted away with small kisses and lazy television.

It's dark outside.

It's late.

But _still_.

Nothing.

Absolutely fucking _nothing_.

The movie plays on, and he winds his fingers delicately into your hair.

You lean into the touch, but still can't help but wonder what else those hands have been up to as of late.

\---

When he'd normally serve dinner, he clears his throat, toying with his cuffs as he avoids looking at you.

Ah.

Here it is.

You knew it was coming all day, but here, right _here_ , he's going to say it and do something and then you'll just-

"It's a clear night. Would you care to eat with me outside?"

Or, you know. He could say that and make you even more suspicious and confused.

"It's fucking freezing," you mutter, and he rolls his eyes, biting his tongue before he makes his usual comment about you being from an abnormally warm climate. Instead, he scratches gently at the tufts of thin hair on the back of your neck, shrugging the shoulder you aren't weighing down.

"I'm sure we'll survive." It's not a request anymore, it's a statement.

You grunt your reluctant acceptance of the decision he's clearly already made, and he smiles at you, a little secret smile that turns to a soft kiss against your temple.

Alright. Time to see what the fuck he's up to.

James leads you to the back door and then insists on covering your eyes with a blindfold he just so happened to have up his sleeve, drawing it out like a magician producing a scarf in the middle of his act. It's fitting, given this has all been an act, some slight of hand you imagine, and now you're about to see the big finale.

At least, in a moment you are, because for now your whole world has become black and the feeling of his comforting hand entwined with yours as he leads you slowly into the cold night air.

You think you hear a giggle, but it's stifled, and it definitely isn't from the man guiding you. You think you've imagined it right up until the blindfold slides away, and John is standing in front of you looking smarter than you've ever seen him in your life, arms behind his back. Behind him is a white marquee, round and with big windows, all fancy and surrounded by curtains. You can see a warm light inside, bright in the night, and are opening your mouth to question it when John jumps in first.

"If you'd care to come in?" He steps back and sweeps open the door flap, warm air washing over you from inside. You look at his grin, then back to James, who is smiling at you more hopefully, fingers gently squeezing your own.

Slowly, you enter.

There's no decorations like you were expecting, just a table to one side that's set for two, a chrome heater in the middle and an empty space to the other side of it. There's flowers around, big white ones, and the light comes from candles burning in lanterns hanging from the ceiling. It's all very simple, romantic and sweet. It doesn't scream anything about its purpose at all.

John does the whole act of showing you to your table and pulling out your chairs, and after you're settled he informs you that food will be with you shortly, barely escaping the tent before he starts to giggle.

Alone, you look at James.

"...So," you start, gesturing vaguely around you. His gaze sweeps it, before settling back on your face.

"So?"

"This is how we're doing it, huh?" It's not a bad way, if you're honest. You're actually trying pretty damn hard not to blush at how much this reminds you of your first date with him, which he put just as much effort into. He's done it on purpose, and it's wonderful and awful all at once, sly asshole.

"I suppose it is, yes," James hums, reaching over the table to thread his fingers through yours, thumb rubbing soothing circles on your skin.

"I was expecting it to be more..."

"More..?"

"...To do with the day," you grit out, relieved he didn't forget but straight back to wanting to go into denial. Your partner (boyfriend sounds too young, you both decided that a while ago) looks at you and gives a little chuckle, eyes warm.

"But you wouldn't _want_ that," he murmurs, and he's right. You relax a little, starting to think he _does_ get it. "You don't want a big song and dance about today, but I still want to celebrate. This is a compromise."

"I guess I could go with that." You can _more_ than go with it. You feel like a weight is lifted off you, your suspicions dimming to nothing. The best thing about James is his ability to be unexpected - right down to him producing actual compassion when you expected nothing but bullshittery. His smile is infectious, and you feel a coy mirror of it forming on your lips. "Just like our first date, except I'm hoping you didn't work so hard you'll pass out halfway through it this time."

He slaps your arm lightly for bringing it up, but nods, resting his chin on his hand. "I got others to do the legwork this time, I admit." His grin returns, broad and suggestive. "I am aiming to stay up _very_ late tonight."

"We'll see if you earn it, dude."

His smile tells you he's certain he will, as John reappears with a bottle of wine and fills your glasses carefully, sticking his tongue out to focus in a way you've often told him is adorable and been assured is _very_ manly. Dave appears - you're not surprised, at this point - with a tux on, kicking you when you snort at how proud he looks of his appearance. He puts a plate down in front of both of you, and you cover your mouth with a hand to stop yourself laughing at the fact it's obviously a fucking takeaway pizza, the selection of toppings impeccably your favourites.

"So fancy," you say in mock awe, and John snickers, until Dave elbows him and pushes him out, muttering about _mushy guardian romance_.

"Only the best for you," James assures you, winking in a way that makes your heart flutter obnoxiously. You turn to the pizza, and it's only when you start eating that you realise how long it's been since you had this shit, how much you missed it, and just how glorious each slice is as it slides down your throat. You take it back, this is the perfect fancy meal, whoever thought of this was a genius.

Between mouthfuls, you make chatter, about how he kept you inside with the volume up so you wouldn't here the commotion out here, and how you'd been looking high and low all day but never thought to check the windows. He laughs, you laugh, and everything feels warm and wonderful, contentment settling over you while you suck each of your fingers clean.

No sooner are you both done than John returns and vanishes with your plates, and Dave brings you a very small cake with a ridiculously fancy slice, putting little plates in front of you and doing a weird awkward bow before shuffling away.

"So how much did you have to bribe them with?" You ask, trying not to be caught up in the sweet orangey smell rising from the warm cake as you carefully cut out a quarter each.

"Nothing much. Cakes for Dave, and a new suit for John." He takes the slice you offer him, smiling and lifting a spoon to eat it gracefully even after the way you both devoured the pizza. "It will be worth it, I think."

Maybe it will. You're celebrating your _birthday_ , even if neither of you have outright said so, and you're _enjoying_ yourself.

You wonder if James understands the miracle he's wrought...

Birthdays are something you haven't really enjoyed for a long time, an ongoing reminder of the march of time and how the days when things like this _were_ fun are growing more and more distant. You stopped wanting to celebrate and turned to wanting to hide instead, and it felt better just to run away from it than embrace what should have been something happy.

A frown tugs at your lips as you consider it, and James sighs, pausing in eating and returning to holding your hand as you blink and look up at him from where you'd been staring distractedly at your untouched slice of cake.

"How old are you?" It's a question people ask you all too regularly, and the sarcastic answer you usually give slips out before you can stop it.

"Twenty-one, obviously."

James pauses a beat, then smiles fondly. "And how long have you _been_ twenty-one?"

"...Long enough," you reply sheepishly, but the way he nods makes you feel oddly good. He doesn't push it at all, returning to his cake with the same expression. "Is that really good enough for you?"

"If it's good enough for you, then yes," he nods, pausing to lick some chocolate buttercream from the spoon with a devastating curl of his pointed tongue. "Age is just a number, and I assure you that when it comes to _actions_ you are still firmly in your prime. Perhaps you are no longer young; I still don't know many people as _youthful_ as you."

You can't stop the blush, this time, or the warmth that blooms suddenly in your chest. You stumble over some kind of thanks, but he hushes you, and you turn your flustered attentions to the cake, filling your stupid mouth with that instead.

He's too good for you. You genuinely have no idea how you ended up with him, but you doubt you deserve him. All of this, all of what he just said- You can't take it. It might not have sounded like much, but to _you_ it's something important. Your face is radiating heat and you're so in love that you're going to swoon into his arms harder than anyone's ever swooned before.

This cake is fucking delicious too, but you expected no less.

When you finish he leans over and cups your face and licks some cream from your lips before he kisses you, and he tastes of chocolate orange and pizza and smoke, and right now it's the most romantic cocktail of flavours in the world.

He woke you with ice and wore your dumb apron and sat with you all day and got you a fucking pizza, and damn if it isn't the best birthday you've ever had.

"I love you, dork," you mumble against his lips, and he responds with a deep hearty laugh that you savour and adore every time one of your shitty jokes manages to pull it from him.

"Well you're lucky I happen to love you too, loser," James answers gently, nuzzling at your face before he steps away from the table and offers you his hand, prompting you to stand and follow as you take it.

Outside, as he pulls you gently to the free space in the tent, a piano starts to play, and your brief confusion as to how the fuck they _got_ the piano outside disappears when he pulls you close and slides his hand onto your waist.

You don't actually know how to dance, and though he usually tries to teach you, he spares you tonight. You just sway together, holding him and resting your head on his shoulder, fingers splayed over his back to feel the pleased beat of his heart.

It's soothing, just like his presence always tends to be. The morning and all the dread you've been feeling feel a million miles away, and all that's left is James, and this moment, and a perfect instant that you doubt you'll forget for a long time.

You might have been twenty-one for more years than you care to admit, but with him it doesn't seem to matter.

He loves you, and does his ridiculous things, and makes you feel just as young as you think you are.

Someday you'll show him how thankful you are for that, how thankful you are for _him_.

But not today.

Today, tonight, right here, you just dance.

For once, you think, with _him_ , dancing is _more_ than enough.

**Author's Note:**

> ~~I am probably going to be revisiting Dad/Bro fairly soon, I loved writing this so much.~~
> 
> I'm over on the [Tumbles](http://khemi.tumblr.com/) if you want to find me!


End file.
